at the gruff anglophile tones and turn of phrase of one of his closest friends.
“Delighted to chat with you, Charles. I need a favor.”
“I said finely diced, not fucking macerated,” Charles yelled at a junior chef opposite. “Sorry, I seem to be surrounded by idiots. What do you need?”
“Remember that salad you make…the one with the beef and crispy noodles and peanuts and shit?” Connor asked.
Charles pointed his knife in the direction of the macerating chef. “Make up the batch of the mango ponzu dressing if you’ve got nothing better to do…Yeah, what of it?”
“I need two servings of it tonight to go.”
“Your date bailed?” Charles said with a laugh. “Never known you to have that problem before.”
“No, she didn’t. Work came up,” he said, thinking on the fly. “I’m going to drive it over to her so she at least gets to eat.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to make a meal for a woman because…”
“Because she’s balancing a bunch of shit and didn’t have time to eat. So, don’t be a dick, and don’t ask any more questions,” Connor said with a hint of humor.
“Don’t need to,” replied Charlie. “You just told me everything I need to know. Let me make it in peace. I’ll have someone bring it out.”
“Poker night again soon?” Connor asked.
“Sounds good to me. Now fuck off.”
Half an hour later, after doing speeds that would have landed him with some serious tickets, he pulled up outside Emerson’s house. It was a pretty timber-and-stone-fronted single story on a decent-sized lot. There were several apexes to the roof and a large bay window to what he assumed was the living room. The living room appeared to be lit by the flickering light of candles.
He knocked on the door and looked to the sky while he waited. Dark clouds skittered across the moon. When Emerson answered, he was glad he’d made the trip. She was dressed in navy sweatpants and a gray T-shirt that had the faded look of a top well-worn. It was impossible to miss the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra, but he forced the thought to the back of his mind. Her damp hair was up in a messy bun.
“I brought us dinner,” he said, lifting the bag.
A sad smile graced her lips for a moment. “I’m not really good company.”
Connor knew she was giving him an out, and he’d be the first to admit that in the past he might have taken it. Comfort and care were not his specialties. But this was Emerson, and he really wanted to be there for her. “You don’t have to be good company. I brought food. We can eat in front of the television. Or read. Or nap on the sofa. Or we can talk if you want to tell me what is going on.”
Emerson sighed and let him pass. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he walked by.
From the wide cream hallway crammed with plants, he could see the kitchen. The cabinets were old and in need of updating, but Emerson had decorated it with old farmhouse-style tin jugs and red-and-white polka dot fabrics. The cast iron oven looked brand new. He placed the food and bottle of wine he’d added to the order on the kitchen island.
“Thank you,” Emerson said quietly as she walked into his arms. Her body pressed up against his, her head pressed into his shoulder. It felt right…it felt perfect. She sighed, and he felt her body relax, as if a coiled spring had been released.
He ran one of his hands along her back and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Silence filled the room.
Emerson’s hands gripped his shirt.
Neither of them moved. Connor felt more grounded, more present, than any of his daily meditations made him feel. He was aware of her body pressed against his in comfort, rather than anything sexual.
Finally, Emerson lifted her head. “I’m glad you came, Connor.”
The softness around her eyes told him she was telling the truth. The tension he’d seen in them when he’d arrived had concerned him.
“I meant what I said. We can eat, we can chat, we can nap. Whatever you want.”
Emerson bit her lip. “Is there anything else on offer?” she asked, her voice softer, huskier than normal.
His dick got with the plan before his brain kicked into gear. He placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb caressing her smooth skin.
Hell, yes, she could have whatever she needed from him, and as her